"Uniform Juliet landing runway 28." replied Uncle Johnny as he prepped for landing. He was used to wordier than average approaches and departures when he was flying such a magnificent plane. He quickly stashed his chart in his flight bag which always smelled a little like avgas and maple syrup.
He would be on the ground in no time as he habitually flew tight patterns. Uncle Johnny did not like long straight in approaches, not even in this big twin. He was a big fan of Short Finals. Who isn't?
Uncle Johnny brought the Boeing 247 around to final, reduced power and let her settle onto the runway.
"What a plane." he said aloud to noone in the cockpit. He knew all eyes would be on her as he taxied and parked. "They should be looking. I know I would." He admired the plane inside and out. "feast your eyes, groundlings."
She was remarkable in her day. Metal construction. Autopilot. Retractible landing gear. But what really got him was the power. Here was the first plane that could fly and climb with one engine out. "Now this is a true twin. Two engines, each capable of flying the plane on its own," Without a doubt this was a great plane. That was his opinion.
He had an opinion on the planes handling, its systems and even its looks. All were great.
Uncle Johnny had opinions on everything. He thought he was unopinionated, but he was wrong. He often wondered about people who claimed to have no opinion about something. Were they lying, confused or simple?
Take any person, place or thing in the world, you could even throw in a verb or adjective for that matter and mix that entity with any person in the world and there will be an opinion. Oh yes there will, whether they admit it or not.
Uncle Johnny wanted to get the plane squared away asap so he could get to his hotel. He knew he 'd have no problem with assistance on the ramp. He fully expected a small crowd standing by ready to gawk at this beautiful bird, so he gunned the engines just a little extra to call in any who missed his clearance on the radio. It worked. Heads turned, conversations stopped, doors opened and out they filed. A small band of moths gathered, following his flame to the first tie down on the ramp. All were present before the lineman showed up with the gas truck.
With all the plane's pumps, electrical and power shut off, the crowd moved in and had Uniform Juliet tied down before Uncle Johnny was out of the cockpit. "That worked well. Now to slide past these rubes and out of here." to himself as he locked the door.
There would be no sliding past anyone now. He fully expected a civilian grilling and was stopped cold with flight bag and suitcase in hand. He knew this was always the price for showing up anywhere with such a plane.
First to speak up was a round headed guy with long arms wearing an apron and a beret like lid. Out from under the beret exploded a white tuft of hair on each side. These tufts closed in on circular framed glasses. He looked like he was peaking through a snow storm. Odd look, but passable for Albany. Anything was passable for Albany. Besides, he just finished tying down the port wing.
"Excuse me sir. Where did you get this plane?"
"You can call me Uncle Johnny."
"Okay, Uncle Johnny, where did you get this plane."
"This ship is a Boeing 247." Uncle Johnny had heard the question quite clearly. Corrective language always disguised a change of subject. "How do you like the sound of those Pratt and Whitneys?" "Great, but where.."
"Pratt and Whitney Wasps that is. And they're mounted on a 74 foot wingspan."
"Seventy four feet?" chimed in the tallest one there. This cat had on a red jacket with a red turtleneck thing on underneath it. "You kept a big wing like that in a tight pattern?"
"I don't believe in straight in approaches, especially at an airport with which I'm not familiar." He used his know-it-all voice on purpose and got a few nods of approval which he expected. "And a Short Final is always preferred."
Deep down he knew his tight pattern might have seemed a little questionable with a such a full figured plane, but he also knew he and she were up to it. Just one more time he wished he could have been on the outside to see that as well.
Next up was a skinny guy whose hat and head were as wide as the rest of his body. Everything on this guy was blue except for his red nose. "Hey mister, tight patterns a habit? You looked awful slow turning final." Uncle Johnny resisted asking Boy Blue when he didn't look slow. "No, my airspeed was right on the money."
"Oh yeah? It looked like your flare was going to keep you floating right on past the field."
"I was given the whole runway, so I landed long."
"Well, I don't know..."
"Know what else you don't know, I'll bet. Did you know a mouse can fit anywhere he can stick his head. He just has to stick his head into any crack and the rest of him can follow."
Boy Blue looked quite puzzled, like he was just asked to solve a trigonometry equation. "Why didn't you do a three point landing?" Ignored.
Up stepped the only halfway smart looking individual in the lot. Uncle Johnny wasn't expecting intelligence, he knew a dark sports jacket and gray pants could make anyone look that way. "Hi, I'm Eric Michaelson, I run the FBO here."
An FBO, Fixed Base Operation, is a business on an airport where among other things you usually can find a place to tie down (park) a plane, mechanics, flying instructions and avgas or aviation gas. Also, at an FBO you can often find a bunch of blowhards willing to regale the unsuspecting victim with their fabulous personal histories, better known as pilots, and most guilty of all, the flight instructors. "We'll have her tanks topped off and it looks like the boys already have her tied down. That was fast. We don't see a plane like this everyday."
"Nobody does. She'll be here overnight. Do you have an airport car?"
An airport car is usually an old bomb that nobody would steal and anybody can take for a little while as long as they put it back with gas in it. It works on the honor system. The reason for their importance is transportation for anyone who lands at an airport and no one is there to meet them ie friends or taxis. Typically you could fly an hour or two to visit an unfamiliar, land and get out. Now what? Nothing, that's what. You have no car and nowhere to go. Usually grab a hamburger at some joint on that airport, and there you have the $100 dollar hamburger.
"Sorry, the car is out and I don't know for how long. Where you off to?"
"I want to get checked in to the Tom Sawyer Motel, before I go to work. I have to adjust the beacon in the tower."
"Oh, you're the guy. You do the light in the tower. What, do you like change the bulb?"
Uncle Johnny hated, but almost accepted people making his job sound trivial. It almost always led to an overinflated discussion/lecture on what he actually did. One thing Uncle Johnny knew to be true was that everyone thinks their job is very important and likes to have theirs thought of that way. He was no exception.
"I work with the FAA. I'm certified to adjust, calibrate and fine tune the tower beacon." Yup, he changed the bulb.
Boy Blue, still listening, "Hey how many of you guys does it take to put in a lightbulb?"
"You know, I think I saw some cheese on the other side of a crack in the wall over there."
Eric Michaelson ignored the interchange and spoke up "Uncle Johnny you can take my car, check in and bring it back. You'll be back before I leave here tonight. When are you working in the tower?"
"I wait until just after dark to monitor the luminosity of the replacement bulb, and check the level and balance of the beam, check the number of flashes per minute and of course the colors. I don't want to bore you, but there's much more." There really isn't.
Uncle Johnny decided Michaelson was an okay guy and took him up on the offer. It would take ten minutes finding the hotel on Western Ave and he'd be back in time to change the tower light bulb.
"Thanks, Eric, I'll be back in no time."
"No problem. Here's the keys. It's the blue Chevy parked next to the yellow Mustang that this guy owns." Nodding to Boy Blue.
"Yeah, watch out for my Stang." Boy Blue trying to appear somewhat menacing. Reignored.
The three broke. One to the FBO, one to some hole in the wall, and the last went past the ramp that still had a small group around the 247 and out to the parking lot. Uncle Johnny spotted the Chevy / Mustang combo. The black plastic frame around the Mustang license plate read 'You've been stung by my Stang!' "Yeah that should read 'I've been stunk up by my owner'." Uncle Johnny noticed a GQ mag on the front seat. "I wonder what he does with that. No obvious physical clues, that's for sure." The addressed subscriber name was Mark Wallace. "Oh, so that's the little jerk's name.
Uncle Johnny slid into the Chevy and it kicked over first time. "Pretty good for an old klunker. This could pass for an airport car. Woops, hope that's not on tape." The car didn't look that bad compared to some others in the lot. Winters are tough up in Albany.
Ten minutes later he was on Western Avenue and spotted a Howard Johnsons just before seeing the Tom Sawyer Motel. "Great! Hojo waffles in the morning! Yeah baby." like he was having waffles for breakfast for the first time.
At the hotel, he was checked in and had the key in no time. "Thanks. How long does it take to get a taxi here and over to the airport?"
The girl thought. "Depends. Could take up to an hour during rush hour. Wait, didn't you just pull up in a car? What do you need with a taxi?"
"The car is borrowed. Wait, what kind of rush hour does Albany have?"
"It can get busy here. This is the capital of the Empire State."
"Yeah, I heard that one already."
"Actually, there really isn't much of a rush hour. The taxis are just not the quickest. Neither of them. You've been warned." she said with a smile.
Uncle Johnny went to his room and dropped off his flight bag and suitcase. He took the bag with his tools and the tower beacon bulb in it.
Back at the airport the sun was down and the sky had barely any light. The same parking spot was still open. Uncle Johnny pulled in and edged the Chevy just a little closer to the Mustang on purpose. "Aint I a stinker?"
On his way to the FBO, he admired the 247. She was finally alone on the ramp and looked absolutely regal with her slightly nose high attitude.
"Hey you made it back in one piece."
"Yeah, here's the keys. Thanks again. I got a warning about the morning Albany rush hour and the taxis around here."
" Oh yeah it's busy around here. This is the capital of the Empire State, you know. Very cosmopolitan."
Uncle Johnny let it pass. Maybe that 'capital of the Empire State' thing is a local joke. Michaelson actually seemed like a pretty cool guy. For that matter so did the girl in the Tom Sawyer.
"I have to be here at 8:30 tomorrow. I can pick you up at the hotel at a quarter after eight if you want. I pass right by it."
"Eric, that would be great."
"Good. Stop by when you finish in the tower. Say hi to the pigeons."
"Say hi to what?"
"The pigeons. That's what we call those guys who spend their days up in that coop. They come ,they go. We see them walking around up there in the tower. We don't talk to them much. They really don't do much."
"Well they must do something or no planes would be getting in here."
"Yeah? Without us, no planes would be able to leave here. Remember, send our fondest regard to them and stop by after."
"Will do. See you later."
At the door to the tower, Uncle Johnny hit the buzzer.
"'mon up." and the door lock clicked open. Uncle Johhny hit the buzzer again and started "I'm here to work on the..."
"Yeah, we said c'mon up."
The stairway was very narrow. Ten steps up. A landing to turn around on and ten more steps up to the next landing. Again and again. He felt like he was in a boring m.c. escher. At the top of the stairs he knocked on the door and was buzzed in. "Hi I'm Uncle Johnny. I'm here to work on the beacon."
There were only two guys in the little tower."Yeah, we know. I'm Dan DeMarzo, I'm doing departures now and this is Ryan Aparo, he's doing approaches to the field." Aparo barely looked up from his screen and nodded. DeMarzo continued,"We have one question, where did you get that plane?"
"I have one question, how do I get to the beacon?"
"The beacon is on the roof. Just pull down that ceiling doorway and you can unfold the attached ladder. It's totally enclosed and you can crawl right in there. Let us know when you are ready so we can alert all approaching and departing aircraft that the tower will be dark temporarily. Now, where did you..."
"How much lead time do you need to alert the traffic?"
"Five minutes will do it. It's very slow tonight."
Uncle Johnny had five minutes to kill before these guys would be asking about the plane again. "Alright start now, I have to get my tools ready." he reached into his bag and started shuffling his tools around. His tools were really nothing more than a few screw drivers, a small level, vice grips which he declared the greatest tool ever invented, some Windex, paper towels, WD-40, and the watch on his wrist.
Aparo on the mike, " Notice to all aircraft approaching and departing Albany airspace, the Albany beacon will be off in five minutes and remain off for maintenance until further notice. Some dill weed here wants to change the lightbulb."
Uncle Johnny looked up so fast he almost fell over. When he regained himself, he saw DeMarzo and Aparo slapping high fives.
"Great one Ryan." Through his laughter DeMarzo said "His finger was off the transmit button right after 'until further notice.' That was awesome Ryan!"
"Great, Heckle and Jeckle here have nothing better to do." thought Uncle Johnny. He pulled down the ceiling doorway, unfolded and let down the ladder. He looked into the little glass house that held the bulb. The effect of the green and white flashes was annoying. He looked at his watch and waited for the second hand to hit twelve.
"So about that plane. Where did you get that..."
"Hey, I need quiet. I'm counting. Now I have to restart" He didn't need quiet. He needed that question to go away. The minute started and he counted twenty-five flashes. Perfect. "Okay, you can kill the beacon, Dan." Uncle Johnny went up the ladder and crouched in the now mostly dark glass house on top of the control tower with his tool bag and bulb. He had to wait for the original bulb to cool.
Once settled in, he took out all of the tools, most of which he had no intention of using and carefully laid them out on the glass house floor. He proceeded to Windex the panes of the glasshouse and the glass enclosure that protected the rotating beacon. He knew the beacon was level by watching it earlier.
He looked through panes and admired the view. No haze. Good star show and of course the airport. The three most beautiful manmade landmarks are golf courses, baseball diamonds and airports at day or night.
"Hey what's taking so long up there?"
He rattled some of his tools to sound busy.
"The last guy was done by now."
After ten more minutes of making believe he was busy and that he couldn't hear DeMarzo and Aparo, he popped out the old bulb and put in the new one. All the used and unused tools were packed up. Mission accomplished. Down the ladder he went.
"Hey what took so long? The guy who changed the bulb last year was done in no time?" asked Aparo.
"It's not just changing the beacon. There's more to it." Man, do these two ever quit?
"Yeah he was looking at the stars." guessed DeMarzo.
"Nah, he was looking at the ants." said Aparo.
"The what? Are there ants..." started Uncle Johnny.
"No. The ants. That's what we call those guys who spend their days down there at the FBO. They come ,they go. We see them walking around down there in and out of the FBO and on the ramp. We don't talk to them much. They really don't do much."
"Well they must do something or no planes would be getting out of here."
"Yeah? Without us, no planes would be getting in here."
DeMarzo threw the switch for the beacon to light up again.
Aparo on the mike, "All aircraft in the Albany area be aware the tower light is in full operation as of now."
"Nice job Uncle Johnny. I can tell you levelled the beacon up there. It seems good as new." That settled it it. DeMarzo was definitely a cool guy.
"Yeah thanks for showing up on time and with very little disruption to air traffic." Uncle Johnny was a little taken aback by Aparo's appreciation. Maybe Aparo was cool after all.
"Nice meeting you." Uncle Johnny said walking out the door. As the door was closing behind him he heard Aparo, "See ya Bulb Boy." The door closed to laughter on the other side. "No Aparo is definitely a tool." Next he thought he heard a high five through the closed door. "Hmm. Maybe DeMarzo..."
Uncle Johnny made straight for the FBO from the tower, all the while admiring the graceful silhouette of the 247 resting peacefully in the first tie down on the ramp. Before he even got to the door, Eric called, "Hey Uncle Johnny, I'm leaving in ten. I'll drive you to the Tom Sawyer. Just let me finish up here."
"Great. You sure you're finished for the night? "
"Yeah, all our planes are in and nothing's scheduled until nine thirty. A charter flight." said Eric
"Where are the other guys.?"
"You kidding? When they're finished, they're long gone. The boss is always last to leave. I see the beacon is back. What took so long? The guy who changed the bulb last year was done in no time?"
"Are you sure you don't talk much with the guys up in the tower?"
"What, the pigeons? No, never. You send them our regards?"
"Sure, they're a real class act."
The trip to the hotel went a lot faster with Eric driving. This should not be surprising because country boys always drive fast. They pulled up to the motel entrance.
"I'll pick you up here at eight thirty."
"Actually, could you pick me up at the Howard Johnsons across the street?"
"Howard Johnson's at eight thirty. See you then." said Eric as he bolted away from the motel.
Uncle Johnny went into the office to see if there were any messages for him. There weren't. There never was.
The next morning, Uncle Johnny was half way through his HoJo waffles when Eric came walking in. He didn't even look at his watch. He knew it was only ten after eight.
"Good morning Uncle Johnny. Sorry I'm so early, but I'm afraid I have to break up your breakfast if you want to ride with me to the airport. Wallace called me this morning to say he left the hangar keys inside the hangar yesterday and now he is behind getting ready for the charterflight."
Uncle Johnny had to do what he had to do. He slid his remaining waffle off of his plate and onto a napkin. He folded the corners over and the waffles were completely covered. He slid his still warm parcel into the side pocket of his flight bag. Eric was impressed with the easy and natural manner with which he dipatched his parcel. but didn't mention it.
The car pulled into the airport lot next to the Mustang. Uncle Johnny peaked in the window and there was the GQ magazine apparently unmoved. No surprise.
On the way to the FBO, they walked past the ramp. In the first tie down was a beautiful red Pitts Special S2B with the classic paint scheme. The November number on the side was November zero two Uniform Juliet. The word beautiful was unnecessary here because that's just the way they come.
"She really is a beaut that Pitts Special." said Eric. "You really put on a show when you brought her in yesterday."
"The show's all her's." He was right.
"I'm sorry about the keys, Mr.Michaelson." said Boy Blue without any nod to Uncle Johnny.
"Don't worry about it. Will you be done by nine thirty for the charter?" asked Eric.
"Sure, Mr. Michaelson."
Eric opened the FBO door and Boy Blue slid in and went through a door behind the couch and into the hangar. Gone.
Eric called over his shoulder to Uncle Johnny as he walked in the back. "I have to get paperwork ready. You can use the phone here to call for the weather."
"Uncle Johnny got the terminal forecast. He picked up his flight bag and went out to the plane in the first tie down. A beautiful Pitts Special biplane with the classic red and white stipe paint job. Here was an exciting piece of art. He admired her every step of the way and patted her spinner which he did to all plane types he'd known before.
He opened the canopy and found a new bag with a beacon in it. Providence, Rhode Island was written on top of the bag. "Well Providence sounds good, but I'm going to try for Farmingdale anyway." He put the flight bag on the front seat and buckled it in so he could reach it later. He then did a prefight or walkaround inspection. Everything, of course, was in perfect order and the gas was full.
As he was getting in the plane, Eric came out of the FBO office.
"I just wanted another look at this baby. She sure is something. So, where you off to, home?" asked Eric.
"Well, every flight gets me closer to home." He was right. "I'm headed now to Farmingdale."
"Hell, that's gotta be about fifty minutes in this thing, right?"
"That's about right, maybe a little less."
Out of the hangar door came Boy Blue, over to the plane. "Hey how did you ever get a hold of a machine like this? This is a teststerone rocket. This is a real man's plane."
"You know this plane has something in common with the Mustang. You drive a Mustang. Anyway, both were designed for women."
"Bull, they were not!" Declared Boy Blue, his lips tightening. "That's not true. The Mustang is a muscle car."
"The first Pitts Special was designed for Betty Skelton, a female pilot and the Ford Mustang was designed for secretaries."
"Bull!"
"Look it up."said Uncle Johnny.
"You look it up" retorted Boy Blue.
Uncle Johnny was sort of disappointed by that comeback.
"Yeah and then why don't you look for another lightbulb to change?" added Boy Blue.
"Excuse me, but do you have some typing to do? Or maybe today you can do some filing."
"Well with you in there, there's still no testerone in that plane." offered Boy Blue quite smugly.
"Maybe not, but there are these. These are keys. You know about keys. They open doors." said Uncle Johnny holding the keys high and jingling them.
Boy Blue turned around disgusted and headed for the hangar, while Eric shook his head looking at the ground. Stifling a smile.
"Well you two get along."
"Yes, I must get along. Thanks for the rides Eric. Nice meeting you." Eric reached into the cockpit and they shook hands.
"Likewise" said Uncle Johnny.
"By the way, was that true about Mustangs and secretaries?" asked Eric.
"It might be." said Uncle Johnny. With that he called out "Clear Prop!" and pulled the canopy shut. Electrical on, beacon on, ignition on and the engine roared to life. Uncle Johnny made contact with ground control and taxied out to the active runway.
"Albany tower this is November zero two Uniform Juliet."
"Uniform Juliet, runway two eight cleared for take off."
"Uniform Juliet." replied Uncle Johnny.
"Uniform Juliet, you are alone in the pattern. You may climb to altitude at your discretion and do a fly over of the runway if needed."
A bizarre transmission, but nothing Uncle Johnny hadn't heard before. Once off the ground he pulled back on the stick and climbed at 2800 feet per minute. Magnificent! He levelled off, brought her around hard, raced to the end of the runway and brought her around hard again. He loved the feel of the g-forces and the sound of the engine. He knew everyone watching, in the tower and on the ground loved the display. Including Boy Blue. As he passed abeam the tower, he snap rolled her, pulled hard and climbed away.
"Good day Uniform Juliet." transmitted the tower.
Uncle Johnny levelled off, reduced power and headed south. Once on course, he reached over the seat, into his flight bag and pulled out the napkin with his remaining waffle.
"Mmmm."
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